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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248678">Con Anima</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedruidscallme/pseuds/whatthedruidscallme'>whatthedruidscallme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, arthur dresses merlin for a change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:36:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedruidscallme/pseuds/whatthedruidscallme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are new clothes lying on his bed when Merlin steps into his little room. They gleam with promise, and the reminder that tonight is the formal announcement of his new position in Camelot's court. He's not sure if he should be worried or excited about the way Arthur is looking at him, almost like he actually expects Merlin to put them on. </p><p>Day 2 of Merthur Week 2020</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Merthur Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Con Anima</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s made of material Merlin doesn’t quite know how to name; the word plays strangely around his tongue, slipping on the edge of his teeth, slick in his mouth, before it leaves him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” he asks instead, trailing clean fingertips over bright thread and scraps of embroidery and silk. The clothes look odd in the clutter and dust of his room, draped over the rumpled bed, the coarse pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shrugs. “I had them made for tonight. I thought you should have something appropriate to the position to wear, and I’m tired of seeing you wear the same baggy trousers and ill-fitting tunics you walk around in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re comfortable. And it doesn’t matter if I get them dirty, which happens all the time. This is...too much. Everyone knows who I am, Arthur, they’re not expecting me to come to a feast in clothes meant for some lord. This must have cost a fortune.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It didn't. And it’s not just from me, it’s from Gwen too. She spent some time on the particulars of embroidery from what Morgana tells me. The birds there...they’re the ones you were named after. Black as your hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin stares at him. “So you, Gwen, and Morgana all conspired to give me clothes? Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sighs. “Because we thought it would be a nice thing to do, Merlin. This isn’t a big deal. Morgana and Gwen are trying to say they support you. That they love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clothes lying on his bed are better-made than Merlin has ever worn. The trousers are the colour of blackberry wine; dark like wilting violets, trimmed with pale grey thread.The waistline is high, and looks as though it may actually fit him. The undershirt is black, laced to the throat, and the thin tunic is the same shade as the trousers, adorned with delicate embroidery that Merlin recognizes as Gwen’s work. A cloak lies there too; simple and black, long and hooded. Merlin murmurs a low oath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought instead of you wearing those ridiculous tattered scarves you do all the time, I’d just give you something with a high collar and hope that does the trick,” Arthur says, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Is that all right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right? By all the gods, Arthur, it’s--it’s too much,” Merlin says, wonder leaking into his voice. “When do we have to be there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe half a bell? Not too long; you know we have to open the feast and then start the dancing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Merlin sighs. “Why must we start everything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur nudges him. “I’m the king. You’re my consort. You shouldn’t have started a relationship with a monarch if you didn’t want to be in Camelot’s gaze.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll just back out now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur laughs. “Is that so? Easily deterred, aren’t you? That’s not the man I fell in love with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I recall,” Merlin says wryly, “I fell in love with a tenacious, single-minded, horribly loud and arrogant young prince who had yet to grow into his position. And here you are, years later. Utterly unchanged.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding. Mostly,” Merlin adds, as Arthur’s hand slides down his arm and pinches him. “Ouch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want help getting into this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin raises an eyebrow, still rubbing his arm. “Are you offering to dress me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m offering to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> dress you,” Arthur corrects. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Merlin says, barely restraining a grin. “Go on. Show me your great skill in this revered art, o king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Arthur says haughtily, and steps in front of Merlin to untie the laces of the tunic he’s wearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s fingers are scarcely brushing against Merlin’s breastbone, clumsily untying laces, and Merlin still can’t keep himself from watching, feeling ten times the heat there must be in Arthur’s skin. Arthur sighs, and suddenly Merlin’s chin is being tipped up so he’s facing the ceiling instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see what I’m untying if your giant head is in the way,” Arthur says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin clears his throat. “Right. Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin’s fingers are curling at his sides to keep from reaching out to touch Arthur when the laces fall at last, and Arthur murmurs, “Raise your arms.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does as he’s told, and Arthur’s fingers curl around the hem of his shirt before tugging it gently over Merlin’s head, sliding over each arm, until the shirt lands in a heap on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” Arthur says, grinning.”Half finished already. I’m a natural. Better than you were when you started, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Merlin says hoarsely, watching Arthur drop to his knees. It looks perverse, indecent to have the king kneeling at Merlin’s own feet, his vulnerable neck bowed, flaxen hair gleaming subtly in sunlight like the crown he wears too often. His hands are hovering at the waistband of Merlin’s trousers, just at the soft hollow below his navel, and Merlin shudders involuntarily. Arthur looks up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something wrong?” There’s a crooked grin playing at the edge of his mouth. His hands are now on Merlin’s hips, thumbs rubbing almost imperceptibly over the bone there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Merlin says, struggling to maintain his composure. “You’re just slow. Were the situations reversed, you’d have me in the stocks by now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shrugs. “I have the advantage of being both your monarch and as I recall, we weren’t sleeping together when I threw you in the stocks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin’s jaw drops, Arthur’s hands forgotten. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t have tossed me in the cells when you felt like it if we’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> earlier?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took years, I was impatient!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You--you toppy bastard, I don’t--you can go to this thing alone.” Merlin attempts to pull away and is immediately restrained by Arthur’s suddenly iron grip on his waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax,” Arthur says easily. “I was kidding. Let me finish, would you? Don’t be so abrupt all the time; it’s hard to catch up with your wild head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh--shut up and take my trousers off before I knee you in the chest,” Merlin snaps, and Arthur laughs. He’s faster with the trousers, pulling them down Merlin’s legs and nudging him backwards to sit on the bed so he can pull the boots off. Then Merlin is left in his smalls, and Arthur stands back and just...looks, eyes roving over every inch of him until Merlin feels a flush beginning to bloom bright on his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” he says, twisting around and grabbing the clothes, “you leave, I’ll get dressed, and I’ll meet you out there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just give them to me,” Arthur says patiently, and then pulls them out of Merlin’s hands. “Stand up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur puts the trousers on him first, biting his lip as he ties them around Merlin’s waist, muttering something too low for Merlin to hear. The shirt comes next, sliding softly over Merlin’s arms, the gentle sound of good quality cloth shifting and rustling on skin as it rests on his shoulders and tickles his stomach. Merlin goes to reach for his belt, but Arthur touches his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t. Tuck it in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tuck it in, you fool. Doesn’t have to be tight, just neat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for the love of--” Merlin mumbles oaths under his breath, tucking the black shirt into the trousers almost violently, and then stands and looks at Arthur with exasperation carved in his every feature. “There. Good?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur steps forward and ties the laces at Merlin’s throat, and Merlin swallows under his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax,” Arthur says. “Here.” He hands Merlin the jacket, and Merlin hesitates before shrugging it on. Arthur crosses his arms, surveying him critically. “Don’t you have a comb or something? Your hair is a bird’s nest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “Don’t lie,” Merlin says softly. “You like it this way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur’s expression grows gentle, almost wistful in the moment before he speaks. “You’re right. I do. It reminds me of when we were both younger, and you’d come and serve me dinner with leaves and dirt in your tangled hair, usually with a guilty expression.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot you used to watch me like an owl with a mouse,” Merlin says, a smile crossing his mouth. “Anything wrong and you’d demand to know. Couldn’t get you to leave me alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur snorts. “An owl watches a mouse because he wants to eat him, not to assess his mental and physical condition. An owl waits to pounce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s not what you were looking to do? Go after your young, hapless manservant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur barks a laugh. “You say that like you don’t possess more power than any man I’ve ever met. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you didn’t kiss me first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were less than an inch away, practically begging me to do it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'd been </span>
  <em>
    <span>practically begging </span>
  </em>
  <span>you to do it for half a decade, I wasn’t expecting you to actually stick your tongue in my mouth seconds before I went out to that tournament. I lost that thing because of you, I couldn't concentrate worth a damn after you did it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could concentrate just fine, we discovered that afterwards,” Merlin says breezily. “Just not on anyone holding a sword.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes...I seem to remember you making me inordinately late for dinner,” Arthur says, taking a deliberate step closer. “I paid the price for that in the form of a lecture by my extremely cross father, who couldn’t understand why all of a sudden his son couldn’t make it past the first stage of a regular tournament.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I made up for it many times after that,” Merlin says, his lips quirking upward. “And you didn’t exactly mind at the time. Even Morgana noticed you staring after me in a daze all the time, always looking at me, listening for me, touching me even in the most innocent of ways. Two fingers over my wrist as I cleaned up wine you spilled, a hand curled around the back of my thigh when I stood beside you, a foot touching mine when we sat together, a finger hooked into my belt…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no defense,” Arthur murmurs, now sliding a gentle hand along the curve of Merlin’s jaw. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut. “I was horribly, horribly afraid I was falling in love with my ridiculous excuse for a servant and couldn’t keep myself away.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And were you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That seems to be the case, miserable as it makes me,” Arthur breathes, and then leans forward to kiss Merlin, just a light press of dry lips, but still enough to send Merlin’s head spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Merlin whispers, and it feels painful to say it, like he cannot possibly press enough meaning behind the words, that they will burst at the seams before they leave his mouth if he tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Arthur strokes his hair back from his face. “I love you too. And...I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Merlin blinks, taken aback. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you,” Arthur repeats, as though Merlin is being particularly slow. “Look at you. You’re court sorcerer, you’d be a physician if you weren’t that, and on top of all of that knowledge, you also made the leap from servant to consort and a title as gracefully as anyone could. And for the moment, you actually look the part. We’re not the same kids that ran into each other on the streets of Camelot anymore. We both grew up, and it’s a rare occurrence that kids who grow up manage to stay like-minded. And well-suited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-suited, hmm?” Merlin says, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-suited,” Arthur says, grinning. “I think I have the right to use that word.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can stand it,” Merlin says, and leans forward to cull another kiss from him. “Should we go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur sighs, pressing his forehead against Merlin’s. “I suppose we should. If you really don’t have a comb to put through your hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yeah. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can slip out early, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be going if we couldn’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their fingers slot together automatically in the passing serenity of the moment. Their skin is warm and thrumming with life, their breaths taken and given in concert, and their steps paced in tandem as they walk towards the great hall.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did absolutely no research into clothing of the day or how it was worn before writing this. I hope it's still enjoyable :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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